


Desires and Fancies

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Part three of a round robin with elistaire and Chris Quinton for a Jubie picture challenge.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Desires and Fancies

**Author's Note:**

> Part three of a round robin with elistaire and Chris Quinton for a Jubie picture challenge.

Duncan stepped on the gas and eased out onto the street. A quick glance at his watch reassured him that he had plenty of time before his date with Methos. His date! Fuck. He wished. What was it about the world's oldest immortal that kept him so off center? After all, he was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, dammit. Warrior, friend and lover for over four hundred years.

So why was he finding it so difficult to tell one snarly, contrary, beautiful man how he felt?

And how could one man keep him so constantly off balance? He had hoped to spend a few companionable hours with Methos the night before--a nice dinner, a game of chess, interesting conversation. But, what had the irritating man done? Stolen his Queen! The game had ended up in shambles while he tore apart the loft looking for his missing chess pieces. Meanwhile, Methos had crawled onto the couch and fallen asleep leaving Duncan to sleep alone in his bed once again.

'Well.' He grinned to himself. Not quite alone. Not if you counted the Black Knight Duncan had snatched up and placed under his pillow to sleep with. And how pathetic was that?

'Not as pathetic as what you did later,' he reminded himself. He groaned out loud with the memory, then smiled to himself as his mind provided an instant replay of the previous night's events.

**The Previous Night at the Loft**

Duncan woke to the urges of an insistent bladder. He reached for his robe and padded to the bathroom. He was on his way back to the bed when he heard the sound--a soft exclamation, barely a sigh--as it drifted from the couch. 

Against his better judgment, he glided across the smooth hardwood floor to where the other man slept. He gazed down at the long figure spread across his couch, lying on his side, with one well shaped leg peeking out from under the covers. When had Methos undressed?

Duncan studied the other man's face, so blissfully serene in sleep, as another soft sigh escaped his slightly parted lips. Probably dreaming, Duncan surmised with a grin. He stood, mesmerized, as he watched his friend sleep, noting the flutter of long lashes against high cheekbones, the soft lips parted in invitation.

Duncan licked his own lips, his tongue darting out in sympathy as he imagined their mouths mating, joined hot and wet in a passionate kiss. He moaned out loud, then froze, when the slumbering figure shifted under the covers. God, the man was beautiful.

'And, what the hell are you doing?' he admonished himself as his hand hovered over Methos' jaw, a mere breath away from a caress. Mentally shaking himself, he turned away to once again slide into his suddenly very cold, very empty bed. He covered up and rolled onto his side, his arm swung outwards across the cool sheets. Letting his mind wander, he imagined a long figure laid out beside him. He breathed in deeply and imagined Methos' scent, the spicy tang of his aftershave, the lingering aura of his soap and his manliness.

He moaned when the illusions became stronger in his mind, fueling his passion as his heart raced and filled his cock with blood. Closing his eyes, he gave in to the fantasy, reaching for his swollen flesh and biting his lip when he threatened to give voice to his need into the quiet air.

He pumped his throbbing cock swiftly, too far gone for a slow build of pleasure. He was excruciatingly aware of every sound and movement as his hips slid against the sheets with every pump and thrust into his fist. His orgasm came with a sudden and blinding force that left him breathless and heaving into his pillow.

Rolling over, he peeked out from under the covers, shivering when his skin goose pimpled in the cooling air. The night was still heavy with sleepy silence and he breathed in a deep sigh of relief that the other man had not waken. He closed his eyes and let slumber take him, his body languid from his release, the picture of Methos' face firmly embedded in his mind.

~~~~~~

Methos flipped on his turn signal and drove towards Joe's Blues Bar. He had left early for his date with MacLeod, giving himself plenty of time to navigate through the evening traffic. Date!

'You fucking wish,' he admonished himself. What was it about MacLeod that kept him so off center all the time? After all, he was Methos, the world's oldest immortal, for God's sake! Warrior, friend and lover for over five thousand years. Why was he finding it so difficult to tell Duncan how he felt? Just because the man was beautiful as well as courageous and kind and....

He shook himself mentally and checked his rearview mirror as he shifted into the next lane. He had hoped to tell Duncan how he felt last night. The evening had started out well enough. A nice dinner followed by a game of chess. He had intended to tell him, but somewhere along the way the icy fingers of dread had stolen his nerve as well as his voice. So, instead, he had resorted to taking the Highlander's White Queen, thereby disrupting the game and any chance he had of turning the evening into something more.

'Of course,' Methos thought. 'If the stubborn man wasn't always so dense, he would have seen through your actions and known what you were trying to say.' He shook his head and laughed out loud. Who was he trying to kid?

But even that didn't compare to what he did later in the night. He was fucking pathetic.

**The Previous Night at the Loft**

He shifted to full wakefulness. Something had jerked him out of his sleep and he held very still, listening through the quiet of the loft to find its source. Nothing. He flopped over to his other side, then sighed unhappily when he realized his bladder was beginning to complain about the large amount of beer he had consumed the night before. Easing off the couch, he padded towards the bathroom, shivering as the night air caressed his naked skin.

He came out of the bathroom with the single minded intent to retreat back under his covers as quickly as possible, but quickly changed his mind when Duncan's slumbering form appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned towards Duncan's bed, slowing his steps as he approached. Duncan was asleep, his face partially buried in his pillow. Methos resisted an overwhelming impulse to reach out and touch, to smooth the long tousled hair away from his face, to stroke a finger across the full lips. God, the man was beautiful.

Duncan shifted under his gaze and Methos froze. He held his breath and waited until he was sure of the other man's continuing slumber, then turned quickly and retreated to the safety of the couch. He twisted and turned on the hard leather as visions of Duncan filled his mind. After immeasurable torturous minutes he finally gave in to the inevitable and turned towards the back of the couch. He reached into his boxers with a sure hand and began to stroke. It wasn't long before he was thrusting wildly into his fist as his pleasure built towards completion. The couch creaked against the rocking of his hips, the noise a steady companion to his labored breaths into the still air.

When his orgasm came it was with a sudden and blinding force that left him panting and breathless into his pillow. He rolled over and peeked out from under the covers, shivering when his skin goose pimpled in the cooling air. The night was still heavy with sleepy silence and he breathed in a deep sigh of relief that Duncan had not waken. He closed his eyes and let slumber take him, his body languid from his release, the picture of Duncan's face firmly embedded in his mind.

 

~~~Joe's Blues Bar ~~~

Duncan took a bite of his steak and chewed automatically. He barely tasted the food, his focus intent on Methos instead. He knew their dinner was excellent. Joe always made sure they were served the best. And Methos had been at his most charming, telling one witty story after another as the meal progressed.

But Duncan was finding it difficult to care about the food, and harder yet to keep up with his friend's banter. Instead, he found his mind dancing with a litany of lustful thoughts as his eyes raked over the man sitting across from him.

Methos had worn a pair of tight black jeans topped with a dark green silk shirt. And he looked damn fine. Better than fine, actually, since he had let his hair grow back out to the length it had been when they first met. The shirt brought out the green in his hazel eyes and his cheeks were colored with excitement as he waved his hands in the air exuberantly while he talked.

They were great hands too, Duncan mused. Sexy as hell hands. He glanced at the long fingers wrapped around a beer bottle and gulped when the bottle was tilted towards Methos' mouth. He watched Methos' lips caress the bottle opening when he drank, his Adam's apple bobbing as the liquid slid down his throat.

Duncan felt his mind swim, and visions clouded his sight, as Methos continued to talk, seemingly unaware of Duncan's tormented emotions. 

Methos lowered his beer bottle back to the table. His tongue darted out and caressed his lower lip before disappearing inside the warm cavern of his mouth. Methos looked into his eyes and smiled, seemingly aware of the tightness of Duncan's jeans as his groin became heavy with arousal. 

Methos traced his lips with his index finger, his eyes fixed on Duncan's face as he slid the digit into his mouth and sucked, his cheeks hollowed as he slid it in and out. Duncan focused his attention on that long finger and the mouth that held it captive, mesmerized as it withdrew and moved towards him. 

He opened his mouth and let Methos' finger in, tasting the tangy salt from Methos' skin, the bitter aftertaste from the beer that clung heavily to the inside of Methos' mouth. He closed his eyes and began to suck, relishing the taste of the man he craved as he mimicked a more lustful, less innocent act. Methos began to move the finger in and out of Duncan's mouth and he groaned around it. His hips began moving of their own volition and he reached down to cup his erection tightly in his palm, squeezing it gently.

~~~~~~

"Mac? Mac?" Methos was snapping his fingers in front of Duncan's face impatiently.

Duncan blinked, and reddened, as he snatched his hand away from his erection, thankful that the table covered his actions. "I'm sorry. What did you say?" he asked sheepishly.

"Nothing, Mac. Forget it. You know, if I'm boring you...." Methos shrugged.

"No, of course you're not. I said I was sorry. So, what were we talking about?"

Methos looked into Duncan's eyes and felt himself melt. The man was just so damn sexy. He had left his hair down tonight and it flowed gently around his shoulders, perfectly off-setting his white silk shirt which he had worn along with the tightest pair of blue jeans Methos had ever seen.

Duncan's eyes looked almost black in the scant light of the bar, his lips full and moist as he sipped on his wine. Methos let his attention wander down Duncan's sleek throat to his full chest. Duncan's muscles were clearly defined through the thin material, his nipples outlined perfectly as they peaked.

Methos' mind began to swim, and visions clouded his sight, as Duncan continued to talk, seemingly unaware of Methos' tormented emotions.

Duncan put down his fork and smiled. Methos looked into dark brown eyes and gulped as Duncan's hand slid to his own chest and began to stroke. He watched Duncan's hand slide over the silky material--lightly furred knuckles and perfectly formed fingers framing each muscle with tender care.

Duncan slid his hand down further until he reached a nipple. He outlined the nipple with one finger, swirling it around the areola until he reached the nub, then took it between two fingers, pinching gently until it hardened.

Methos scooted his chair closer and reached out his hand towards the exposed skin at Duncan's chest. He slid his hand underneath the silky material, closed his eyes and stroked, sucking in a deep breath as he encountered hard muscle and satiny skin. He unbuttoned Duncan's shirt and slid his fingers over the sculpted muscles and fine hair until he reached the other nipple. He stroked and pinched, shivering when Duncan pressed into his touch.

Methos felt his groin grow hard and tight, and he reached down to cup his erection in the palm of his hand as his hips began to rock of their own volition. He squeezed gently and moaned as the pressure began to build.

~~~~~~

"Adam? Adam?" Duncan was leaning forward, practically yelling in his face. He looked up sharply as his vision shattered in the stark reality of Duncan's gaze, and snatched his hand away from his throbbing erection.

Duncan's smile was kind as he regarded him from across the table. "I think I lost you."

Methos felt himself color with embarrassment and grabbed his beer. A few swallows helped him recover his composure, if only minutely. "Yeah, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I understand. I was just telling you about the art auction next week. Would you like to go with me?"

"Yeah, sure. Have I told you about...."

~~~~~~

Joe Dawson watched his two friends from across the bar. There was very little the Watcher did not see. But even a less trained eye than his own would have caught the drama playing out at their table tonight.

He smiled and shook his head in disbelief. Those two had almost six thousand years of experience between them, but yet they couldn't see what was right in front of their own noses. Damn immortals, he chuckled to himself. He reached for his cane and stepped towards his office. Once he reached the door, he stopped and looked down at the tattoo decorating the inside of his wrist. Balancing his cane against the door, he traced a finger over the design gently.

'Watch and do not interfere,' he thought, the words a reminder of his oath; where his loyalties should lie. His honor. He turned back and looked at his friends once again. Everyone else would see two men sitting together, sharing a meal and conversation. But, Joe knew both Mac and Methos too well: the tilt of Methos' head as he regarded the other man.; the tenseness in Mac's muscles as he held himself in tight control.

No. Watcher oath be damned, and he picked up his cane and stepped inside his office. He booted up his computer and signed on. Once he found the website he wanted, he reached inside his desk and pulled out a notebook. He sifted through the pages until he found what he was looking for, then grinned wickedly as he turned back to his computer.

He found a bouquet of red roses and clicked on the image. Perfect. Looking at his notebook, he read off the numbers to Mac's Visa card. A few strokes of his computer's keyboard and the information was saved.

A return to the website's front page brought him back to the same bouquet of roses. He thumbed through his notebook until he found the number to Adam Pierson's Gold MasterCard. He hummed to himself as he finished the order and hit 'confirm'.

Sitting back in his seat in satisfaction, he grinned evilly as he thought about his deed.

One dozen red roses to Duncan MacLeod.

~~~ To Duncan

It's time we stopped dancing around our attraction to one another.  
Call me.  
Adam ~~~

One dozen red roses to Adam Pierson.

 

~~~ To Adam

It's time we stopped dancing around our attraction to one another.  
Call me.  
Duncan ~~~


End file.
